


saw a new day dawning

by Anonymous



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Background Relationships, Canadian Shack, F/F, Getting Together, Hypothermia, Minor Canonical Character(s), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28858113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When communications go down with the Water Keepers, George insists on being part of the group Warren leads to reestablish contact. Winter travel in Newmerica is not as predictable as one might hope.
Relationships: George St. Claire/Roberta Warren
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	saw a new day dawning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertScribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertScribe/gifts).



> Title from “Blue Ridge Mountain” by Hurray for the Riff Raff
> 
> Content notes for things too minor to tag: off-screen, background pregnancy, recreational drug use. All background relationships are canonical ones.
> 
> Thanks ever so much to feoplepeel and Scytale for the beta help.

"No one's heard from the Water Keepers in a while," Doc said. "I think we should go check on them."

Roberta looked out the window across the grounds of Pacifica. Winter had finally come, and done so with a vengeance -- after a fall that swung indecisively between freezing and burning, the season had turned with an ice storm followed almost immediately by a blizzard. A thick rime of ice covered the buildings, and three feet of snow covered everything else. There was more still coming down, thick enough in the air that she could see only about twenty feet ahead. "You don't think we just lost connection? I wouldn't put anything past this weather."

"It could be as simple as that," George said, coming over to stand next to Roberta. She braced her arm against the windowsill and stared out at the rapidly falling snow, a furrow between her brows. Her hair, grown out a bit for the winter, curled around her ears and Roberta resisted the urge to reach for it. "But part of being a country is looking out for each other. We should go check it out."

"Who's ' _ we,' _ Madam President?" Roberta asked, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "You have important things to be doing right here. Doc and I can handle it."

"Oh," said Doc, in the way he did when he really didn't like what he was hearing. "You know I'm no good with the cold, Chief."

"You don't want to see your girlfriend again?" Roberta asked. She wasn't close enough to nudge him in the ribs, so she let her tone do the work for her.

Doc sighed sadly. "Kuruk believes in space in a relationship."

"You haven't seen each other in months, that's gotta be enough space. Come on, Doc, you, me, 10k. It'll be fun, like old times."

"Old times weren't fun, Chief!" Doc squawked.

"You're not leaving me behind, Warren," George said, smiling and warm and sure. "There's nothing the Council needs me here for right now, and we can check on Limbo and Heartland on the way."

"Hackerville, too?" Roberta asked unenthusiastically.

"I'm happy to let Citizen Z deal with Hackerville," George said smoothly. "If they need me, I'll be there. But they've made it clear how much they value their independence." The fact that they were barely more than insufferable went unsaid, but very much understood.

"We'll set out at dawn," Roberta said. "You sure you want to come?"

"I'm sure," George said. "You keep checking, I'll think you don't want to spend time with me."

"Nah," Roberta said. "Just don't want to pull the President away from her duties."

"Right now, my duties are shoveling and arbitration. Laura can handle the arbitration while we're gone, and I'm sure the shoveling'll get done."

"She'll be pissed, you miss her kid's birth," Doc said. "Told me she's planning to -"

"You supposed to be talking about that, Doc?" Roberta cut in.

"Oh! No, I am not," Doc said. "I'll, uh, go let 10k know. And get myself some more long johns. I hope you guys are ready to cuddle, I sleep cold. And don't -- you know, I'm just gonna stop talking while I'm ahead."

"Good plan," Roberta said, grinning. She stayed by the window with George, and together they watched Doc head across campus, head tucked deep in his furry parka, a splotch of bright green that disappeared almost immediately in the snow. Before George could ask any questions she shouldn't, Roberta said, "Kipped with him the first winter after we settled in Blue Sky. That man has the coldest feet of anyone I've ever met."

"Better man in a metaphorical storm than a literal one?" George asked.

Roberta turned to catch the laughter in George's eyes -- George had turned sincerity into an art, and sometimes Roberta had to look right at her to be sure she was making a joke. "We've weathered more than a few of both," she said, letting herself smile in return. "Once his socks get wet he turns into a real bear, though."

"Everyone has their weaknesses," George agreed solemnly, pushing off the wall.

To keep her from walking away, Roberta said, "You sure about this?"

George grinned at her, dropped a friendly hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Roberta didn't quite stop herself from leaning into the pressure. It was nice to be reassured. "I'm sure. Thank you for worrying about me, but it's really not necessary."

Roberta put her hand over George's and squeezed herself, passing the reassurance back. "Just don't want to lose democracy to a cold snap, is all." They stood there a moment, quiet and peaceful, until Roberta squeezed her hand once more and said regretfully, "I better get ready."

"Meet you at the gates at dawn?" George confirmed.

"See you there."

They slapped hands, a brusque shaking off of intimacy, and Roberta was off, bundling herself up for the run across campus to her own rooms. There were tunnels connecting some of the buildings, but hers was one without -- a personal decision. She'd wanted space, after Cooper's revelation. A distant building with shitty heating had been a compromise, keeping her in the bounds of Pacifica instead of holding down a safe house in the wilderness.

Paths cut through the snow in a great crisscrossing web, some already refilling with snow, drifts coming up to the chopped out edges. As she trudged through the snow, she thought practicalities. They'd need snowshoes, coats, long johns, whatever lights they could get with the days so short and the miles so long. There was no way to get a car to the Water Keepers in this weather, and there were no working snowmobiles available. They were going to have to walk the fifty miles. It wasn't, Roberta thought dismally, the worst snow she'd ever lived through. Probably. Nothing worse was coming immediately to mind.

At least, she reflected, shrugging her shoulders to try and get the snow to stop trickling down her collar and freezing her back, there wouldn't be any zombies. And they wouldn't have to worry about finding water. Just freezing to death.

Easy as pie.

"If they're just not answering for shits and giggles," she grumbled to herself, "I am going to be  _ pissed _ ."

She spent the rest of the day packing, making sure her cold weather gear was ready for use and replacing or patching the things that needed to be replaced or patched. She got together food for five days, thought about whether Doc or 10k would do the same and got some more. They would carry as much as they could, no matter how heavy it was -- there was no guarantee they could resupply with the Water Keepers, and depending on Limbo and Heartland would be an imposition. There was cached food at the safe house, but they should avoid depending on that if they could. It was a pain to cache more. 

She tried on the fully loaded pack and groaned. Like strapping an eight year old to her back.

"God, I hate the apocalypse," she complained to herself. But complaining did nothing, and a good dinner and good night's sleep would do much, so she dropped the pack and went to dinner, and to check on the rest of the party.

\--

Dawn was late even in early winter this far north, so they actually met in the gray of pre-dawn. It was bright enough, with what light there was reflecting infinitely off of the unbroken fields of snow. Each of them was so round with coats and packs that it felt vaguely farcical.

Terribly, George, who was otherwise the best person Roberta had ever met, was a morning person. Roberta was capable of mornings. She was capable of a great many things, among which mornings barely rated. But there was something just plain wrong about George's good cheer in the pre-dawn light, staring out at the deep snow covering the many miles between them and their destination. 

But George had sat with her as Doc glued up the bullet holes that didn't bleed and didn't heal, and she'd sat with George as she agonized over writing a Constitution that could age and grow and accept everyone. She could accept the flaws of youth and unseemly energy.

"You guys ready?" George asked. The only part of her visible was her eyes -- she was as round as the rest of them with her layers, and her scarf was pulled high, her hat low. With three square inches of face visible, she still managed to beam.

10k yawned into his hand, not seeming to have any youthful energy or enthusiasm at the moment. "Ready," he said and scrubbed hard at his eye.

"I can still stay here, if you don't need me," Doc said, staring mournfully out at the snow.

Roberta slapped his belly as she passed him. "Come on, Doc, the longer we stand here, the longer it takes to get there."

"If I get hypothermia," Doc said, still not moving, "you know what to do, right?"

"Get you out of anything wet and get your body temperature up, but not too fast," George said, leading the way. Roberta followed, letting the compressed snow of George's footprints support her.

The gait for walking in snowshoes was so different from regular walking; it wasn't her first time, but she wasn't used to it, either, and it was exhausting even besides the weight on her back. Each step added a shake, a wide, bow-legged stance. The balance of weight was different, vastly so, between the weight of the pack and the precarious perch on the snow. Less than a mile out she was sweating so heavily that she unzipped her outer coat and let the frigid air lick in to cool her. 

It was impossible to talk; they walked in single file, each taking a turn in the lead to break the deep snow. The wind whipped harshly around them, nothing in the exposed fields slowing it and settling only occasionally. It was still warm, as far as Alberta went -- the snow was a good sign. If they were unlucky, the temperature would drop to something much colder. If that happened... well, Roberta knew the theory behind digging a shelter in the snow.

And if it got warmer... well, melting snow was a harder walk, but that was nothing life-threatening.

Limbo wasn't that far, she reassured herself, then took a moment to laugh at the metaphor. Murphy would love it. Maybe even add it as a tagline --  _ Limbo! Just around the corner! _ And it would be good to see him again. She got worried when he spent too much time with only his blends -- they didn't tell him to shut up enough, and Murphy needed to be told to shut up often and with force.

Right now, though, five miles in, legs screaming, back tight and painful, she'd agree to just about anything he said, if he gave them hot baths.

"How much farther?" Doc asked, his voice thin over the whistle of the wind.

"A few more miles!" Roberta called over her shoulder.

"Do we want to break for lunch?" George hollered from the rear of the line.

Roberta let herself stop walking and waited for the others to catch up, pulling her water bottle out of the pocket it was tucked into against her chest, where it wouldn't freeze, and drinking deeply. "I'm fine with a break," she said. "Could use one, and would love to lighten the load a bit."

10k shrugged, which was barely a gesture, layered up as they were. "I'm hungry," he offered.

"Sounds like lunchtime to me," Doc said, dropping his pack into the snow with a grunt. He pulled his food out and then sat on the pack. The rest followed his lead, settling in a tight circle so their knees knocked against each other.

As hot as she was while they were moving, the wind chilled her within minutes of stopping. It didn't make a girl want to linger over her sandwich. The rest of them apparently felt the same; Roberta watched everyone zip all the way up and hunch into themselves. They scooted closer to each other, trying to leach heat from one another, or at least to block the wind from their faces, alone on their backpacks in the wasteland of snow.

"I miss snowplows," Doc said wistfully, staring at the snow covered highway route sign that told them they were still going the right way.

"Don't get started," Roberta said. "You'll never stop."

"I miss tampons," George said. Roberta rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling and nodding her agreement.

10k didn't say anything, focused intently on his heel of cheese. Doc nudged him and 10k looked up. "Oh, uh, I'm pretty much good with a hot shower. Grocery stores? We didn't use 'em much, but it was nice not having to pick everything yourself."

"Grocery stores," they all sighed in unison.

Roberta let that sit for a moment, until the wind stole down her sleeves and she shivered dramatically. Sometimes, being only kind of dead was a real drag. "Enough of that. Limbo is waiting and it has heating."

"Things do get better, after all," Doc said, heaving himself to his feet.

\--

Breaking snow all the way to Limbo was painfully slow; in the summer it was five hours by foot at most, and that was if they were taking their time. In the snow, it took them nine.

Roberta banged on the door. When one of the blends asked for the password, she snarled, "I will put my foot up Murphy's red ass if you leave us out here in the snow for one minute longer."

"Lieutenant Warren!" the blend said. "So good to have you back. Come on in." To his credit, he seemed completely earnest about it, swinging the door open with a smile.

Limbo had undergone some cold weather remodeling. There was a snowway built in now, so they could slam the door on the whistling wind and take off their snowshoes before entering the main room. When they did, they saw that wasn't the only change -- someone had put scarves on the zombie attractions and the go-go dancers had put on thick sweaters and carried trays of hot drinks. Roberta snagged one that looked like hot chocolate and took a deep gulp. Burning her mouth had never felt so good.

Murphy was as visible as always -- the lighting in Limbo was red enough that his whole red-devil look didn't stand out, but his clothes sure did. Before heading over to him Roberta clapped George's shoulder as she shed her layers. Roberta was the main contact with Murphy and Limbo, but she hadn't been able to get out here for a while.

When he saw her, he raised his glass and grinned. "Warren! It's good to see you. Pleasure or business? No, don't tell me, I see Madame President behind you. There hasn't been another coup, has there?"

"It's always good to see you, Murphy," she said with a grin, stealing his glass of whiskey. It was even warmer going down than the hot chocolate had been.

"We get stragglers in now and then," he told her as they leaned against the bar, elbow to elbow. "Most of the Talkers are too damaged for the vaccine, but we've had a few humans. Everyone's taken it." He glanced sidelong at her. "Not that it's not a pleasure, but why  _ are _ you here, Warren?"

"Just passing through," she said. "Lost touch with the Water Keepers. On our way to check on them. Figured you might have some beds available."

"I could clear a few for you, sure. You thinking sabotage?"

"It's hard not to, but it's just as likely to be weather."

Murphy glanced across the room. His eyes lingered on George, and once she was looking at George, Roberta found it hard to look away. "All right. I understand your do-gooder self out and about in this godawful storm, but what's the President doing out here? Doesn't our whole democracy  _ thing _ kind of depend on her not dying of hypothermia? I don't want to have another election, Warren, I'm not a naturally civic minded sort of person."

She nudged him with her elbow but didn't say anything else about it. They didn't bring up Murphytown much. "Feel free to remind her," Roberta said. "We've all tried. You know George. It's hard to stop her when she's set her mind to something." It came out warm and fond, when she'd been aiming for vaguely censorious. She really didn't approve of George risking herself on  _ errands _ , except that George wouldn't be the woman she was if she were content to let others do the hard work.

Murphy looked at Roberta sidelong for a long moment. He'd always been good at seeing things she didn't want him to. He let the moment hang, long enough to make a point, then straightened and clapped. "You must be exhausted. Let me show you to your rooms. You guys don't mind sharing, right?"

"How big's the bed?" Roberta asked, following Murphy to the stairs. "You know 10k starfishes."

"Don't you worry," Murphy said, "I can get you two beds. Make Doc share with him. Those two deserve each other. You'll have to be the Secret Service. Hope you're ready for the honor."

They both took a moment to remember the Secret Service agents Thompson. "I think I'll manage," Roberta said.

"Here you are," Murphy said, pushing a door open with a flourish and revealing a narrow room with a full bed. It had clearly been vacated in a hurry, the covers a mess and one of the drawers hanging open where the resident had grabbed stuff for the next day. Even still, the way he could communicate with the blends gave her the willies. "Sleep well, Roberta."

"See you in the morning, Murphy."

She settled in, hanging all of her clothes to dry, and had drifted off to sleep when George came in. She was trying to be quiet, so Roberta called, "I'm awake," without opening her eyes.

"Sorry," said George. "Doc wanted to play a game and he insisted I was lucky because," she dropped her voice to poorly imitate Doc, "'there's no other damn way Newmerica would be working, so you just hang out right here."

Roberta chuckled quietly. "Did he win?"

"He lost  _ horribly _ ," George said. Roberta could hear her stripping off her layers and then she was lifting the covers and sliding into the bed at Roberta's back. She threw off heat like a furnace, though her feet were cold, and she pressed them immediately to the backs of Roberta's ankles. Roberta grumbled a protest but didn't pull away. "Used up all my luck with the vote, I guess."

"Nah," Roberta said sleepily. "You make your own luck. Hard work doesn't run out."

"Thanks, Warren," George said, quiet and pleased, and they settled into the dark. It was the work of a moment before Roberta slipped back under the rising tide of sleep.

She woke with George's muscular arm slung over her waist, George's breath tickling the back of her neck. It was warm and comfortable and she  _ couldn't be here _ .

What had happened with Cooper -- what had happened with Garnett -- what had happened with her husband -- Roberta was tired of losing things. People. And losing George would be so much worse, because it wouldn't just be her loss. Doc was right. Newmerica wouldn't work without George, not yet.

She slid carefully out from under George's arm and headed for the bathroom. It had been a bit of a rush, at Pacifica, getting plumbing working before winter started in earnest, but they'd managed to get composting toilets and running water going. Limbo, independent, had running water and outhouses. There were pots for when you didn't want to layer up and show your ass to the wind. Roberta bundled up and got her wake-up call.

The one nice thing about the splintery wooden privy seat was that she wasn’t about to freeze to it. It was difficult to focus on positives when it was -5F, though.

When she got back in, 10k was sitting at the bar, having breakfast with a Talker. The kid always had been an early riser. Roberta slid in next to him, smiling at the woman. The Talker smiled back, popping a bizkit between her teeth and crunching. It was visible through the hole in her cheek as she chewed.

"Everyone else sleeping in?" Roberta asked.

10k shrugged. "Doc just rolled over and told me not to let the hot air out."

"He does realize we're doing more miles today, right?"

"I don't think he cares?" 10k said, face scrunched up with the half smile he almost always wore when talking about Doc. "Is George up?"

"She will be," Roberta said, with bone deep certainty. She had faith in George. Always. She turned to the Talker. "What about Murphy? Will he be seeing us off?

"I've been here since winter started and I've never seen him up before noon," the Talker said. "I wouldn't bet on it."

"Then he knows where to find us. I'm going to get Doc up," she told 10k. "Save some food for the rest of us."

He ducked his head in a nod and Roberta headed up. 10k had left the door cracked when he'd gotten up, so Roberta just followed the sound of snoring. It was the room next to the one she and George had been in, which was convenient. She rapped on the doorframe.

"Time to get up, Doc," she said.

He groaned. "Is it still snowing?"

"Nope," Roberta said. "Still cold as a witch’s tit, but not snowing."

"Well, that's something." Doc didn't get up immediately but rubbed his face hard. "Getting too old for this, Warren."

"I know," she said quietly. "One more run. That's all I'll ask of you."

"I'm with you till I drop, Chief," Doc said, finally sitting up. He looked thin and old in his long johns, though she knew he was still wiry and strong. "Just maybe next time we can keep it to the summer?"

"Sure thing," she said. A long pause. "You don't hurry up, 10k's going to eat all the good stuff."

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Gotta give a man his privacy, Chief."

She smiled, couldn't stop herself. "I'll leave you to it."

As he waved her off, she closed the door behind her and took a step to the side. She went through the door to her own room without knocking, and walked in on George's muscular bare back as she pulled a sports bra over her head. Roberta's mouth went dry. George looked over her shoulder, startled.

"Sorry," Roberta said, not quite able to tear her eyes away. "Should have knocked. Guess you didn't need a wake up call."

"It's fine, just surprised me." Was she seeing things, or was there something flirtatious about George's eyes? She propped her hip against the doorframe and pretended she wasn't watching as George pulled on her undershirt, then a long sleeved shirt, then a warm vest. She hooked her coat over her arm and grabbed her bag. "Meet you downstairs?"

"Sounds good," Roberta said and stepped aside to give George room to pass.

She had to take a moment before she could start her own packing. She kept thinking about the long line of George's back, her sturdy waist, the cut of her shoulder blade. She kept imagining how it would feel under her hands. 

Roberta shook her head firmly and kept moving.

They got on the road when the light was still pale and strange, and as the sun came up, so did the temperature. The air grew warm enough that they each stripped off their outer layers and the snow, where it hung on branches or buildings, began to melt.

All around them, snow slid from branches and landed with a hush. The pines were left bare, save for the crystalline droplets of meltwater clinging to their needles. The sun caught them and the world sparkled.

"I thought the whole zombie apocalypse thing would deal with the whole global warming thing," Doc grumbled, as his foot plunged deep beneath the sloppy crust of the snow.

"Can't undo all the damage that quick," George said, but her easy tone was undermined by her panting. They were all struggling as the snow turned slushy. "You know I was going to school for biology?"

"No," Roberta said. "I assumed poli-sci or something. Social work, maybe."

"Well, I was a freshman, so I wasn't much of  _ anything _ ," George said. "But yeah, bio. I wanted to change the world. Find some fungus that ate oil or something."

Snow was soaking the legs of Roberta's pants, and a chill was crawling up them at the same time as sweat dripped between her breasts and rolled down her back. "You did pretty well for yourself by that metric," she said, heaving herself into another squashy step. It had to be at least 40 degrees out.

"Yeah," said 10k, who was  _ almost _ able to keep from breaking the snow, by virtue of being a bundle of sticks shaped like a man. "Most of the time, when things start blowing up around us, there's no one left to pick up the pieces."

"And here you are," George said, "doing the picking up."

"And only  _ some _ of the blowing up," Doc said. "Hardly any of it was our fault this time, even!"

George laughed. "On behalf of Newmerica, let me thank you for blowing up the things you did."

"It was our pleasure," Doc said. "'Specially 'cuz you're so darn nice."

"Sucking up to George won't get you out of milkruns, Doc," Roberta said.

"Well, worth a shot," he shrugged. 

"You guys think Zona'll take another shot?" George asked.

"Yeah," 10k said, immediately.

"I don't know," Roberta said. "Depends on if any of them survived the original vaccine, I guess. Loners like Estes, maybe. They don't like things being out of their control." She glanced at George, caught a sliver of her face, twisted in a frown. "I wouldn't lose sleep over it, though. We're better set up for external threats than we were for internal. And it might not happen."

"Cause we've been so lucky, historically," George said drily.

"Point," Roberta acknowledged. "So we prep for it, the way we prepped for winter. It'll come when it comes."

Before George could respond, Doc postholed down to his hip and made a funny grunting noice of bitten-back pain. 10k, always near him, and George, always alert for another's pain, grabbed him by the armpits and pulled him up. Roberta, a little slower, slapped the snow off his legs. "You alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Doc, voice tight, not sounding alright at all. "Just hit a rock or something on the way down. I'm fine."

That lasted about until he took a step and they all watched his ankle give, sending him to his knees. 10k pulled him up once more, and this time kept his arm around Doc. Doc tried not to lean into him too blatantly and failed.

"You don't look fine," Roberta said.

"Chief," Doc said. "It's a twisted ankle. I've had worse."

"And when we were running for our lives, I'd've made you walk on it," she agreed. "We don't need four for this. 10k, take him home."

"No, Chief, I'm  _ fine _ ," Doc said.

"Prove it," Roberta told him, backing away. "Get to me without falling."

Doc frowned at her. "Okay, I'm not fine, but we might as well leave me at Heartland as at Limbo."

"Nope, Limbo's closer to home and I'm pretty sure Murphy's hiding a ski-do from us. It's three miles, Doc, you can make it that far. If you can't, 10k'll carry you."

10k shrugged. "You'd do it for me."

"I don't know about  _ that _ ," Doc muttered. "You're awfully heavy, kid. Fine,  _ fine _ , but next time someone calls you a mother hen, I won't be correcting them."

"Cluck cluck," Roberta said. "You got some of your herbal remedy?"

"Oh, good call," Doc said, and pulled a glove off with his teeth to rummage in his pockets. "You want one, 'case you get in trouble later?"

"I think we'll be fine," Roberta said.

"If you're offering, sure," George said, pretending not to hear her. Doc grinned.

"Was I a bad influence on you, Madam President?"

"Never," George said. Then, grinning: "Maybe a little."

"Here, catch," Doc said, tossing George a joint and tucking another between his lips. He found his lighter a moment later and lit up with a deep sigh of satisfaction. "All right, kid, lead the way."

Roberta watched them for a moment, gauging Doc's limping gait and the way 10k stayed with him. They'd be fine. She could depend on Doc for that. Whatever happened, he persevered. But maybe... maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to let him take a break.

It was George's hand on her shoulder that shook her out of her reverie. "They'll be fine," George reassured her, tucking the joint in her breast pocket. 

"I know," Roberta said, taking the lead. "One thing you can always rely on Doc for."

"Besides weed?" George asked, a grin in her voice.

"Besides weed," Roberta agreed.

George was good enough to let them walk in silence for a long while, and the terrain was good enough to be difficult, so that Roberta had to think about each step she took and the soreness of her muscles, rather than the passage of time and her fears.

It was good to be sore. It made her feel less dead, and since she'd found out, she'd been searching out the edges of those feelings. It was entirely mental -- before she had known, she hadn't suspected. After, she interrogated herself relentlessly. Did she feel too much pain? Not enough? Did she tire too quickly, too slowly? Were her reactions as they should be?

And did it matter, in this world she was helping build, where the living and the dead could exist, side by side?

It did matter. It did. To fail, so badly, to know herself -- that mattered. It was a failure less dramatic than her many failures to save the world, but it was more affecting. Zona had turned her mind against her and she had thought it reclaimed. To learn otherwise had shaken her almost as much as the original loss.

But this, this walking, this soreness, the quiet and comforting presence of George at her back, did something to soothe the ache.

George cleared her throat. "It's a beautiful day," she said.

Pulled out of herself, Roberta looked around. It  _ was  _ beautiful, even with the snow melting and slushy under their snowshoes. The snow was bright and white, and they were moving into the rolling fields of Heartland, which always had a pastoral charm. Roberta was pretty well immune to pastoral charm after crossing the Midwest largely by foot twice, but Heartland was  _ hers _ in a way that none of Kansas ever had been. 

"Always better with good company," she said.

"Yeah," George said, then: "I'm glad it's you."

Roberta raised an eyebrow. "I should be the one saying that. You're the one that shouldn't be here."

"I know you almost left."

Roberta stopped in her tracks and stared ahead. The snow covered fields rolled into forever. There was no escape, no enemies coming, no place to hide. "I would have come back."

"I'm glad you didn't have to. I would, um," when Roberta looked at her, she was blushing, "I'd miss you, if you left again. Call me greedy," she finished, with a bashful smile.

There was more than her words, there. "Greed's a good thing," Roberta said, deliberately light. "If you don't want  _ something _ , might as well let the zees get you."

"Never," George said, promise and boast. And Roberta, who knew better, believed her.

They subsided back into silence until Heartland appeared on the horizon. The grain towers were stark and black in the blue light of late dusk, an otherworldly promise. That might have been the relief talking, though.

"It's good to know those towers are full," George said, pausing at the crest of the hill as they stared down into Heartland. "We built something, you know? Something real."

"Something for everyone," Roberta agreed, remembering Zona and the world meant for the few. She clapped her hand to George's back. "I think that little freshman who wanted to change the world would be proud of you."

George grabbed Roberta's hand, holding it on her shoulder for a long moment, the squeeze dulled by their gloves. The flip in Roberta's stomach wasn't dull at all, though. "I think so too." Then she added with a grin, "She'd be glad all the MMA was paying off too."

"Yeah, is that where all those fancy kicks come from?"

They started walking again, the repetition of step, shake, step muscle memory at this point. "Can't let the zombie apocalypse get you down," George said. "If I can't make my coach proud by absolutely kicking ass, what's the  _ point? _ "

Roberta chuckled, saving most of her breath for the last stretch. "Why'd you pick up MMA?"

George shrugged, an almost imperceptible movement in her layers and the failing light. "It's not like I was an angry kid or anything. I just liked being active and ballet didn't do it for me."

"Ballet?" Roberta heard the surprise in her voice and coughed to try and tone it down. "Never would have pictured you doing ballet."

"No, and you shouldn't! My mom signed me up when I was little. Made it through two years before I refused to ever go again. I think it was the first show I had to do -- all I can remember is how much the bun hurt. I cut all my hair off the next day so they could never make me do it again. After that, I bounced around between sports for a while. When I found MMA, it was like something clicked. Stuck with right up till the end."

"It's served you well," Roberta said, which felt like an understatement.

"So have a lot of other things. Knowing how to talk to people was a big one," she said wryly. "Amazing how many people forgot how to do that."

"Why talk when you can shoot?" Roberta asked rhetorically. "I ever tell you about the Zuggalos?"

They traded stories back and forth the rest of the way to the farmhouse, some new, some old, all the better for being shared.

Roberta knocked as George fell silent, hanging back. Though George and Addy had mostly figured things out, they still weren't quite friends. 

Addy opened the door and blinked a moment, peering through the darkness. When she recognized them, her hand loosened on her z-whacker and she moved aside. "Well, this is unexpected," she said. "But not unwelcome. Getting a little sick of seeing the same faces day in and out."

"Hey," said Finn from the couch, mild and unoffended. "I have a beautiful face. You're lucky to see it."

"It's a face I'm happy to sit on," Addy threw over her shoulder. "Come on in, guys, hang your stuff by the fire. How long are you staying?"

"You didn't get our radio?" Roberta asked, kicking the snow off her boots at the doorway before tromping in.

" _ I _ didn't," Addy said. "Boots by the door. Did you, Finn?"

Finn turned on the couch to look at them. "I did, yeah. Thought it would be a nice surprise for you."

"Aw, thank you," Addy said, scuffing her hand affectionately through his hair. "Don't ever do it again. I hate surprises."

"Noted," Finn said. "You guys hungry?"

"Starving," George said from her seat on the floor as she pulled her boots off. Roberta lent her a hand as she stood, and George's hand was warm in hers, despite the chill outside. "We did bring our own food, though, we can eat that."

Finn stuck his head out of the kitchen to raise his eyebrow at her. "If you're worried about being a burden, let me remind you that we  _ do _ produce all of the grain here. We're not hurting. You got any fruit, though, I'd be happy to trade."

"I wish," George said. "Thank you."

They gathered around the kitchen table as Finn cooked. It was warm, with both fire and stove going, and Addy slid them drinks and insisted on all the news. It was... cozy. Relaxing. 

Roberta found her shoulders loosening. She also found herself with her chin in her hand, gazing fondly at George, until she saw Addy's eyebrow raised at her. She blushed and looked away, focusing on her drink.

After dinner, as she led Roberta to a room, Addy said, "So. The goody two-shoes."

"You'll have to let it go some day, Addy," Roberta said. "You're on the same side."

"Mm," Addy disagreed. "Well, I don't approve, but you could do worse."

" _ Thanks _ ," Roberta said drily. "Just what I needed."

Addy scowled, looking at the ground. "You should get to be happy, sometime. Even if it's not forever. It... makes the rest of it more bearable."

Roberta couldn't resist and hugged Addy tight. It took a moment, but Addy hugged her back. "Traveling with you guys... always made me happy. Even the shitty parts."

"They were mostly shitty parts," Addy whispered into her shoulder.

"Not all of them," Roberta said and Addy squeezed her tight.

"Not all," she agreed in a whisper.

\--

The next morning was quiet. Finn made them a hot breakfast and Addy waved them out the door and they were off.

The safe house was another seven miles from Heartland, set along the river. It was frozen over this time of year and walking it would be easier than the earlier terrain had been -- the surface of the river was more even than that of the ground, with none of the hidden holes that had been slowing them.

It was easier right up until the ice started creaking.

They traded looks of alarm. "It's probably nothing," George said slowly. "It's been below freezing for weeks. A few warm days shouldn't be enough to melt the ice."

"Get off the middle anyway," Roberta told her.

George nodded and took a step towards her, and then, with the scream of breaking ice, George was gone.

" _ Shit _ ," Roberta yelped, throwing herself flat across the ice to try and pull George out. All she could see were George's gloved hands, scrabbling on the ice at the edge of the hole, which was a relief, it was, because it meant George wasn't  _ under _ the ice, where Roberta would never get her back, and then the ice shattered in George's hand and George was  _ gone _ .

Roberta thrust her hands into the freezing water, the cold sinking instantly into her bones, and found George's collar, seized it and yanked  _ up. _ Flat on her stomach, trying to spread out her weight so she didn't break the rest of the ice in her fear, she had no leverage, but George, thank God, thank the devil, thank the fucking stars, kicked up hard and together they got her out of the hole and onto the ice.

She'd slipped out of her backpack and snowshoes in the water, and lay there shivering and soaked through. As Roberta watched, she started to turn blue.

The mile between them and the safe house felt suddenly insurmountable.

"Get up," Roberta said, wiggling them backwards across the ice, pulling George desperately towards the edge. Freezing water was seeping up her sleeves, but the discomfort was distant and unimportant. "Get up, get up, goddamn you, get up."

George's teeth chattered so hard Roberta barely understood her when she spoke. "Thank you, thank you."

George had been the first to take the vaccine. She'd taken it in the middle of Pacifica, an audience around her, Murphy pressing the plunger. She'd taken it to reassure people that it was safe, that it was worth doing, that they could have death again. She'd worried about doing it, worried that she was making it seem like to be a Talker was a bad thing.

Roberta had talked her into taking the vaccine. If she died today, it was Roberta's fault.

"We're going to have to run it," Roberta said.

George tried to nod, shivering so hard that it was difficult to discern, but Roberta didn't need her to be comprehensible, she needed her to  _ move,  _ and move they did. 

It was the slowest mile of Roberta's life, stumbling through the snow, George's arm hooked around her neck, George's shivering shaking them both, George's feet slowing as they went, dragging almost to a stop.

"Come  _ on _ ," Roberta urged, digging her fingers into George's side hard, trying to force her into motion. Her sleeve had frozen and she could hear it crackle where she pressed into George. "You're too damn big for me to carry."

"S-s-sorry," George slurred into her shoulder.

Roberta could  _ see _ the safe house, a neat little log cabin, built for purpose in the early fall. The snow between it and them was deep and cold and bright. "It's so close, you can make it," she said. She pulled George forward a step, then another. George's shivering was slowing, and Roberta pulled her forward with a surge of strength borne from terror.

"Would you give up that easily?" she asked, dragging them forward still more. "Give up on Newmerica? Give up on me? I don't throw in with quitters, George, I know you're not one."

"'m s-s-s-s-sorry," George mumbled. Her words were slow and stupid, her lips clumsy and blue, but she was talking, responding, and that had to be a good sign. It had to be.

When they reached the safe house, they burst through the door, not caring about the snow they tracked in. It was cold, unheated, though there was bedding and blankets and food stored in tins and glass jars against the walls.

"Get out of those clothes," Roberta said, heading straight for the fireplace. "I'll get the fire started. Dry yourself off with the blankets."

George, stupid with hypothermia, obeyed only slowly. Her hands were numb and clumsy and she stared, perplexed at her buttons and zippers. Roberta swore, turning back from her path to the fire, and undid George's clothes for her, wrenching her out of them. Her skin was cold and clammy, a blue tinge at her fingers and in her cheeks. Her nipples were so hard they must have hurt, and her skin was gooseflesh all over. She shivered only occasionally, a brief, slow shudder, which made Roberta still more frantic.

Roberta shoved her towards the blankets. "Get  _ dry _ ," she said again, and George, slowly, fumblingly, obeyed, unfolding one of the blankets and wrapping it around herself as Roberta got the fire started.

She wanted to hurry it, wanted to throw all the logs in and the match after, but if she fucked this up, if she couldn't get a fucking fire going -- "This is why the President doesn't need to come on milkruns," she said, tight and furious. "You die like this, I'll never forgive you."

"B-b-better m-me than a-a-anyone else," George said, her teeth chattering audibly through each word, which was  _ good _ , it was, it meant she was shivering.

"That is  _ not _ true," Roberta said. "There's a dozen people I would dump in a frozen lake without a second thought and you are  _ not _ one of them."

The fire caught. Roberta blew gently, coaxing it to leap higher. "Come here," she said. "Bring the mattress and all the blankets."

"It h-hurts," George said as she drew closer. "Sh-shit, it hurts."

"Warming up always does."

"D-don't th-think I'm warming u-up," George said and Robera looked at her, saw how cold and bedraggled she was. She pulled George even closer to the fire, so that the faint warmth of the tiny flame would reach her, and then she started to strip off her own snowcovered, sweatsoaked clothes. She left them in a pile as George made questioning noises.

And then she slid in behind George, pulling George tight to her chest, cold and wet as she still was. Her hair, against Roberta's nose, was frozen. "Shit," Roberta said. "Goddamn, you're cold."

"Sorry," George said.

"Shut up," Roberta told her. Then, "Keep talking. As much as you can."

George's shivering vibrated against Roberta's chest, so Roberta wound her arms tighter around George, one arm slotting between her breasts and the other locked tight around her waist. She twined her legs through George's, pulling them so tight they might have shared a skin. She breathed hot breath across the nape of George's neck.

"Talk to me, George," she said. "Let me know you're still here."

"It hurts," George gasped. "Feels like needles."

"You stood up to torture," Roberta said pitilessly. "You can stand up to this."

"I kn-know," George said, with none of her usual determination.

"You  _ can _ ," Roberta insisted, pressing the length of her body into the length of George's. For once in her life, she wished she was bigger, so she could surround George with her own hot self. As it was, she watched the fire anxiously. It grew, at first slowly and then in a gluttony of consumption, and she had to pull herself away from George to feed it. When she slid back into place, George was warmer, though still terrifyingly cool.

"Tell me a story," Roberta said. When George groaned, she shook her, gently but firmly. "Do it."

"Okay," George said, her tone edging on a whine. "Um. Did I ever tell you how I met Dante?"

"No, tell me."

"Well it was pretty early on, maybe a month or two after you saved me? I was still just so damn scared..." She trailed off and Roberta shook her gently. "Um, yeah. Sorry, Warren, I don't know where my head is."

"Back in that damn river," Roberta said. She prompted, "A few months after we got separated."

"Yeah, I was still with the refugee group, then -- there still  _ was  _ a refugee group then, it was so early, and he was one of the guys assigned to us. I'd already started volunteering as a guard, even though I hated it. I was on watch one night when his troupe started pulling in and the cars called the zees. They had maybe a hundred after them? Well, there was a -- a rocket launcher in the camp, and I'd never used one before, but I figured it out on the fly, took out maybe twenty zees that way? And the explosion called a bunch of the rest over, gave the troupe time to regroup. And then, well, we lost a lot of people. But not everyone. I saved him, he saved me. Tracked me down the next day, asked my name. We were friends after that. When the camp went down, we stuck together, long as we could. Seemed like the right thing to do. I introduced him to Marjorie." The pain in George's voice was sudden and intense.

"You made each other's lives better," Roberta told her, fierce. "That's worth something. That's  _ always _ worth something."

"Yeah," George agreed. "It has to be."

Roberta kept her talking until George's skin was warm against hers. The next time George trailed off, Roberta didn't try to get her started again. It was warm in the cabin now, and George was warm against her. The adrenaline drained out of her, leaving her shaky with exhaustion and sore with the exertion of the day. They were safe. They'd come through the other side. Sleep hit her like a brick.

She woke slowly and peacefully to a beam of sunlight slanting across her face. There was a weight across her waist, and when she finally allowed her eyes to open, George's face was mere inches from her own, George's arm slung across her. Their legs were still twined together. Without the tension of hypothermia, she was suddenly aware of her own nakedness, and of George's, and how tightly they were pressed together.

She thought about pulling away but couldn't think of a reason to. And besides, the fire had died while they slept and the air, outside the blankets, was frigid once more. George, against her, warm, almost hot. And when George's eyes flickered open, she only felt warmer.

"Morning," she said quietly into the space between them.

George smiled, visible from this distance mostly in her eyes. "Morning," she said. "You saved my life again."

"Who's keeping count?" Roberta asked.

"You're right," George said. "I'll just have to save you again, even things out a little."

Roberta twitched, a sleepy little movement, and her legs slid against George's. All of a sudden she was painfully, agonizingly turned on. George was here, handsome in the soft morning light, between her legs, their breasts pressed together and -- and George had nearly died yesterday. She’d thought -- it was stupid of her, but she’d thought, if she kept her distance, small as it was, that George would be safe. That if Roberta didn’t love her, she couldn’t die or betray her. It had been the magical thinking of a child.

She was so damn stupid. George could die whether Roberta touched her or not.

"I'll get the fire started again," she said, but slowly, making a decision.

George's arm tightened over her waist, holding her firmly in place. "There's no hurry," she said. Then, "You weren't planning on us making it the rest of the way to the Water Keepers today, were you?"

"Nah," Roberta said. "Figure we deserve a rest day after the near-death experience and all."

George's lips twitched with a smile. "Hey," she said. "Stop me if I'm being forward, but I'd really like to kiss you."

Roberta sucked in a breath -- George's breath, with how close they were. "Go ahead," she murmured.

George slanted her lips over Roberta's, slow as honey on a cold morning and just as sweet. It was gentle, respectful -- a word Roberta'd never thought about applying to kissing before -- and hot as hell. She only barely stopped herself from grinding on George's thigh. When George pulled away, Roberta hummed. "That was nice," she said, heard her own voice drop low and sultry. "Do it again."

George grinned. "There's more I'd like to do, too."

Roberta skated her hand up George's ribs. She couldn't get her hand on George's tits, not pressed together the way they were, but she  _ could _ feel the muscles of George's back, and that was just as good. "If I don't like it, I'll let you know," she said.

George took it as the permission it was.

She kissed her way down Roberta's neck, sucking on her pulse point, then further down to her chest. George took a moment to play with Roberta's breasts, blanket over her shoulders like a cloak as she pushed Roberta's boobs up and together, admiring them. Right when Roberta was about to lose patience, she ducked her head and started kissing there, too. She started on the upper curve of Roberta's breast, kissing, sucking, licking, until Roberta slid her hand up George's neck and into her hair, grabbing firmly and moving George where she wanted her.

She felt George smile against her before she took Roberta's nipple into her mouth, and then she was entirely focused on the feeling of George's tongue, flicking against her.

George took her time, lingered on each breast long enough that Roberta started trying to rub against something, anything, to get friction, but George just pinned her legs down and refused to be hurried. Though George had sucked hard enough bruise, Roberta didn't do that anymore, and when she gazed down the length of her own body all she saw was George. Despite the chill in the air, Roberta felt like she was on fire.

When George finally got her mouth between Roberta's legs, she was grateful for George's hands holding her still. She was so turned on, so oversensitive from the foreplay, that she would have snapped her legs shut hard enough to leave George's ears ringing. As it was, she tossed her head back against the mattress, toes flexing, one hand fisted in George's hair, the other in her own for lack of other things to grab.

George's tongue swept over her, at first playful and then concentrated, as Roberta's grip got tighter, as the sounds she was making without quite meaning to got louder. One of George's hands disappeared off her leg and retreated between George's own. When Roberta came, it was long and slow, George working her through it until she was so sensitive she was flinching, and pulled George up by her hair.

"Hoo," she breathed. And then, a little goofily, "Madam  _ President _ . You pass laws with that mouth?"

George buried her smile in Roberta's shoulder.

"Your turn," Roberta said, running her hand over George's flank.

"Uh," George said, keeping her face turned away. Roberta could  _ feel _ her blushing. "No need."

"And if I want to?"

George buried her face harder into Roberta's shoulder. "Next time," she said.

"Oh, there'll be a next time?" Roberta teased.

"I'd like there to be," George said frankly. "If there won't, gimme ten minutes and I'll take you up on that offer."

"Not ten minutes  _ and _ next time?"

"Takes me a while to be ready to go again," George said. "If you want another, though..."

"We should probably get the fire back up, first," Roberta said regretfully. Now that they were still again, the warm pocket of air under the blankets lost, she was getting cold.

"You got the last one, I can get this one," George said, extricating herself from Roberta and the blankets. Roberta watched with interest as her skin drew up into sharp gooseflesh. "Did you carry me? It's all a bit..." she gestured vaguely.

"Not quite," Roberta said, sitting up and drawing the blankets around her shoulders. "Our clothes dry? You lost your pack in the lake."

George ran her hands over clothes, then started to get dressed. "Dry," she said, a minor miracle. "And damn, that'll make food tight. Hope the Water Keepers are alright, we're about to need help from them."

George pulled her coat on and then patted her pockets. "I wonder if... hey, it survived." She pulled out Doc's joint and raised her eyebrows. "Something to do?"

"Get the fire up first," Roberta said, starting to get dressed herself. "I'll be right back."

Overnight, the temperatures had plummeted once more. If it had stayed this cold through the week, the ice wouldn't have broken, Roberta thought miserably as she circled the cabin to find the side protected from the wind and snow drifts. She was pretty sure her clit froze off while her pants were down, but at least she'd gotten one last hurrah out of it. When she made her way back in, the fire was roaring merrily and George had propped the backpack at the top of the mattress and was lounging. The joint, unlit, dangled from her lips.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"I will be, once we light that thing up," Roberta said, stomping the snow off her boots.

George grinned, the joint dipping almost out of her mouth, and patted the mattress next to her. Roberta sat crosslegged, knee pressing into George's thigh, and watched as George lit the joint with a long twig that she tossed onto the fire after. George took a long pull, eyes closing, then leaned forward and pressed her lips to Roberta's once more. She breathed out and Roberta breathed in, taking the smoke into her own lungs until she was light-headed. It'd been a while since she'd smoked, but the shotgunning made it gentler. She didn't cough, just let the smoke trickle out from between her lips when George pulled back, eyes heavy lidded.

"You saved my life," George said, then took another drag.

Before she could lean in again, Roberta said, "You saved mine."

George rolled her eyes, lips pressed tight so the smoke wouldn't escape, and slid her lips over Roberta's once more. The smoke curled over her tongue, down her throat, hot and sweet, and this time she held it until her lungs throbbed. She exhaled, caught George around the back of the neck before she could take another drag, and kissed her deeply.

In a few minutes she'd have cottonmouth, but for now her tongue slid across George's with ease. When George pulled back, she stubbed out the joint and tossed it carelessly aside before turning back to Roberta, eyes hot.

"My turn," Roberta told her, ignoring the throbbing between her legs.

She took her time going over George. She'd thought about it too many times not to. She tested the strength of George's shoulders, the way she jerked and giggled when Roberta traced her hands over George's sides. She reveled in the soft sounds George made when Roberta worked her hand down between George's legs and traced the slick lips of her cunt.

She took her time, but it was still over too soon, that strange dilation of time that she always got while high, mild as this one was, everything stretched out and compressed all at once. George pulled her up and held her hands so they couldn't roam any further. Roberta slung a leg over George's hips, nestled her head into the crook of George's shoulder.

George smoothed her hand up and down Roberta's side, a soothing pressure. "We should head out in the morning."

"Yeah," Roberta agreed. "It's been nice to rest."

"Haven't gotten many of those, lately," George agreed.

"You  _ have  _ been running yourself ragged," Roberta said and George craned her neck to glare at her. Roberta ignored that.

Letting her head thump back down, George said, a little petulantly, "You're one to talk."

"I'm dead," Roberta reminded her, unable to stop herself from tracing her fingers over the ragged holes Estes had shot in her. George had kissed the edges of them, when she was working her way down Roberta's chest. "I can't work myself to death.  _ You _ , on the other hand, can."

"What happened to 'I'll rest when I'm dead?"

"Oh, I never had any illusions about that," Roberta said.

George drew Roberta's fingers to her mouth and kissed the tips. "Is it harder, building something, or have I just forgotten how hard it was to be on the run all the time?"

Roberta cupped her face and turned it so they were nose to nose, forehead to forehead. "It's harder," she said. "But it's worth it. Running is... exhausting, but it's easy. This, what you're doing here, is something else entirely. Used to be, any time I disagreed with someone, I left or they died. Now? You have dinner three times a week with people who just want to tell you all the things you're doing wrong."

"Sometimes they have good ideas!" George defended.

"And most of the time they're full of shit. And no matter which, you sit, and you listen to them, and then you go out and listen to other people, and you just... keep going. Making it work. That's a whole different kind of hard from mercying zees. Before you, before Newmerica, I didn't think it was possible to build anymore."

"You did," George said, quiet and sure. "You did, or you wouldn't have worked so hard to get a cure made. How many times did you cross the country?"

"Never thought I'd make it." She laughed humorlessly. "And I didn't."

"Hey. You're still here. You're doing the work, too." George looked very seriously at her, searching for something. Roberta hoped she would find it. "Building a country is something I couldn't -- literally could not -- do by myself. If I tried..." She flashed that rueful, dimpled smile that always made Roberta feel like things  _ could _ be okay. "Well, I'm sure the apocalypse has seen more than a few crazy people talking to themselves."

"More than a few," Roberta agreed.

\--

They woke early the next morning and got ready in silence and darkness, communicating only in touches and glances and familiarity. They would trade the pack back and forth through the day, and so they loaded it heavy, taking what food they could, in case the Water Keepers weren't there, or were in need.

They started their hike in the moonlight, which shone so brightly off the snow that the landscape was silver and alien. For a long time, there was only the sound of snow crunching underfoot, their panting breaths. Perhaps somewhere across the snow there was some other living creature -- a human, a deer, a rabbit. Perhaps somewhere under the snow the dead lay waiting. Here there was only them, and the long shadows they cast in the moonlight.

When dawn began to sneak pink fingers across the shell of the world, Roberta stopped. George reached automatically for the pack and Roberta caught her hand, held it. "When we get back," she said, "I'd like it if we could... try. To turn this into something."

George's smile was as bright as the sun rising behind her. "I'd like that."

\--

They arrived at the dam a few hours after sunrise, when the sun was high and harsh. This time there were no arrows to greet them. There was no greeting at all, until they drew past the boundary and then they were amidst the hustle and bustle of a camp in full swing. Roberta had seen too many shitshows to be comforted, though.

Roberta grabbed a woman as she went past. "Is Kuruk around?"

"Up at the dam." The woman was a Talker, and a patch of her skull showed through, bright and white in the sun. She looked at the two of them for another moment. "You guys finally noticed our radio's down, huh?"

"That all it is? We came as fast as we could," George said.

"No saboteurs this time, unless they’ve learned how to control the weather. The freezing rain last week took it down. Aha-Edohi can tell you more. He's at the dam, too."

It was a great relief, and Roberta felt her shoulders loosen. 10k had been as quiet about it as he normally was, but he’d mentioned the way the entire Marine camp had disappeared more than once. She knew he still had nightmares about losing Red, unabated by finding her safe and sound. "They'll let us in when we get there?" Roberta asked.

The Talker shrugged. "Unless something's changed.”

\--

Kuruk opened the door to the dam and smiled at them. "George, Warren. You're a pleasant surprise. I thought they'd send some grunt." She looked behind them. "Doc not with you?"

"He was," Roberta said. "Got injured day two, had to send him home. He wanted to see you."

"It would have been nice to see him," Kuruk said, a little wistful. "Oh, well. When the snow clears. He's not too injured?"

"Just a bum ankle, but he couldn't snowshoe on it easily. How's things been here?"

"Fine, up until that ice storm. Took down just about everything it could take down -- we lost the antenna and our power lines. We got power back up but the antenna... well, take a look." She guided them over to look up at the antenna. The path to it was absolutely covered in ice. The antenna dangled uselessly.

"Dad tried to fix it, but he fell and broke his leg. I've been trying to get it braced sufficiently." She rolled her eyes. "But not so well that he tries again."

"He hasn't slowed down at all since he died, has he?" George asked, grinning softly.

"Not a bit," Kuruk said. "Here, you wanna see him? He'll be able to talk to you about the antenna more. As far as I know we're waiting for a melt to clear off that ice before we try again."

George looked up at the antenna for a long moment, brow furrowed. "I can get it up for you," she said.

"You heard when she said Eddy broke his leg, right?" Roberta asked.

"We came all this way," George said. "Might as well fix the problem we came to fix."

"If I dragged you out of that river just for you to get yourself killed falling, I'm going to be  _ very _ upset with you," Roberta said.

Kuruk raised an eyebrow.

"She's exaggerating," George said.

"I'm really not," Roberta said. "Your dad busy?"

"He makes himself busy," Kuruk said, gesturing for them to follow her. "Doing a lot of repairs -- things that got sabotaged, things that are just old. A lot of it's not urgent, but he needs something to do. Better for everyone that the dam's his project."

"I know the type," Roberta said dryly. George rolled her eyes.

As they worked their way through the depths of the dam, Kuruk updated them on the state of things with the Water Keepers, beyond what the radio communications had been. The permanent structures put in before winter were holding up well. Ashki still seemed to be drifting aimlessly through life, but Kuruk was working with him. 10k's friend, Ayalla, was looking more and more to be the favored successor as leader. The Talkers were fully integrated. They'd lost one of their older members to old age and the cold and, vaccinated, she'd died human and stayed that way. 

"It's a beautiful thing," Kuruk said, "to have a peaceful death again."

Roberta had to agree.

When they reached Eddy, he didn't look at them immediately. Roberta understood -- he was working on a steam pipe, and she'd had a strong appreciation for the power of steam since it had scorched off Estes' face in front of her eyes.

"Good to see you, sir," George said. "We heard you might need a hand."

"Heard," he snorted, heaving one last time on his wrench before turning to face them. "You take your promises seriously, don't you, George?"

"I do, sir. If I didn't, why would anyone else?"

He snorted again, but it sounded approving. "Well, it's a mechanical issue, not sabotage. We'll be able to handle it ourselves once the ice melts."

"I'm here," George said. "You might as well use me."

"You think we don't have bodies we can throw at it?" he asked, tapping the brace that held his leg straight. "It's not something you can fix just because you really want to."

"Let us take a shot at it, at least," George said. "We came all this way, I'd feel stupid if we just turned around and left."

"Well, we'd treat you to dinner first," Kuruk said, wry.

"I'll take that dinner if you let me try," George said.

Eddy shrugged. "It's your neck."

Roberta hmph’ed.

As he led them back to the antenna, he stopped to grab a rope. "Wish we had a climbing harness," he said. "Would have saved me a broken leg."

"I tie a pretty good knot," George said.

"So do I," Eddy said. "Doesn't stop the rope from snapping."

"You're not going up there," Roberta said. 

Eddy glanced between the two of them. "Well, you know where the antenna is, and this seems like a matter for you to work out between yourselves. Come on, Kuruk, I'm sure you have some fussing to do over my leg."

Kuruk spared them a long look, eyebrows up. "I do. I want to know if that bone is trying to come out again."

George waited until Eddy and Kuruk were far enough that they wouldn't have to pretend not to listen. "I understand your worries, and I appreciate you trying to look out for me, but--"

"No buts. You're not going up there. I'm not fighting on this one, George. You got to come on this trip, you kept your word about looking out for each other, you don't get to break your neck to make a point."

"We have to  _ try _ ," George said. "You get that, I know you do."

"What was it you were saying about not being able to do things alone?" Roberta asked. "You're not the only one here."

George frowned. "So it's an unacceptable risk for me, but not for you."

"Yeah," Roberta said. "I break my neck, I can walk it off. You can't. I'm going up. You can belay." She paused, to make sure that George was understanding her. "You fight me on this one, I'm knocking you out and dragging you back to Pacifica on a sled."

George's jaw set mulishly, but she took a deep breath and her face went through the same journey it travelled during long council meetings where she hated what she was hearing but was committed to listening to it. "Okay," she said finally. "I hear you. It's a good point."

\--

Once she was lashed into the rope, it had barely enough length for her to get up the antenna. When they anchored it at the beginning of the catwalk, it had even less. But the ground was 50 feet below, and there was so much more she could break than a leg.

Glaring at the thick, slick ice, she wished for crampons and then started to move, George feeding rope through the anchor behind her. She kept her balance over each foot, moving slowly and never allowing herself to get careless. One step at a time. She could do this.

Her foot skidded out from under her, leaving her precariously off balance, staring over the edge of the drop. The view spun vertiginously and nausea clamped tightly on her stomach.

She dropped to her hands and knees, head hanging low. "Get it  _ together _ ," she hissed at herself, and slowly, slowly began to crawl.

By the time she pulled herself up on the base of the antenna, her hands and knees were freezing, her fingers numb. She took a moment to loop her arm around the antenna and shove her hands in her armpits to warm them for the climb.

She glanced back along the length of the rope, met George's worried eyes. "I'm fine," she called, in the hopes that saying it would make it true. "Just keep your hands on that rope."

"I've got you," George promised.

"I know," Roberta said and took a steadying breath and began the climb.

This was, somehow, the easy part. Yes, the rungs were slick with ice, but they were also thin enough that she could curl her fingers around them. She could still fall, but there had been so many times when that was true.

When she reached the part of the antenna that had snapped, she hooked her legs through the bars and ran a hand over the rope taut around her waist before she began to muscle it straight. Once it was clamped into place, she pulled off one glove with her teeth. She tried to shove it in her pocket and watched it fall all the long distance to the ground.

Then she shook her head and pulled the solder and soldering iron from her belt. It took a long while for the iron to heat, all the while her fingers growing cold and numb. When it was finally hot enough to work, she was clumsy and stiff, and scorched the fingers of her remaining glove, but eventually there was nothing else she could do.

Clamps held the antenna in place and solder closed the cracks. It would work or it wouldn't.

She tucked her hand inside her coat while she waited for the iron to cool, a much quicker process than the heating, and tucked it away. Then she began the climb down.

Later, she wouldn't be able to recall the traverse, beyond an impression of ice and height. George would tell her how she'd almost fallen, dismounting the antenna, that she'd held on with one naked hand and the rope dangling between them, that she'd been deaf to George's shouting as she'd grimaced and pulled herself up and crawled back down the catwalk.

She could remember George pulling her up and into a tight hug, and the way it took her a moment to understand what was happening, that she was safe, the way George's voice cracked when she said, "Good to have you back."

"Good to be back," she whispered back, pressing her forehead to George's.

They stayed there a moment, pressed together and swaying, almost a dance, until Roberta reminded herself that they were here for a reason. "We should see if it worked."

"Yeah," George agreed, and worked the knots holding the rope tight around Roberta's waist open. She gathered the rope into a neat coil, and they set off for the radio room. They didn't hold hands, but they walked close enough that their shoulders bumped.

Roberta hung back as George stuck her head in the radio room. It was a cramped little space, made something approaching cozy with thick blankets. "What's the news?" George said.

Kuruk tried the radio. "Water Keepers, calling all Newmerica. Can anyone hear us?"

When she released the button, there was a crackle, and then a clear voice. "This is Citizen Z responding to the Water Keepers. Good to hear your voice, Kuruk. Someone around here's been pretty worried about you. George and Warren there? Everything okay?"

"Safe and sound. Storm knocked out our antenna," Kuruk said. "Passing the radio over. You can have Doc call me later." With a nod and a hand on George’s shoulder, she left.

"Will do," CZ said, amused through the miles. "How's the President?"

George, taking the handset, said, "The President is fine."

"And Warren?"

Roberta took the handset. "We're all good here."

"Good!" said CZ. "Because I've got some news. You sitting down?"

George glanced over at Roberta, eyebrows raised, and took the radio back. "No. Should I be?"

"Depends on how you take the news, I guess. Laura had her baby, named her after you." Even with the crackle of distance, she could hear his grin.

"Oh," George said softly. "Oh, that's... it's a girl?"

"It's a girl," Citizen Z confirmed. "Ten fingers, ten toes, the normal human color. First baby born uninfected, and she's named after you. When you get back, Laura wants you to be her godmother."

"Of course," George said. She looked at Roberta almost helplessly, eyes glittering. "Did you hear?"

"I heard."

"The first uninfected..." George glanced around and Roberta nudged the chair towards her. One of the rollers stuck, and it scraped along the floor, but George didn’t seem to notice, sinking gratefully into it. "We did it. We really did it." 

"We're gonna have to get you home so you can meet little George," Roberta said, leaning against the desk. She pressed her ankle against George’s, a gentle pressure through their boots.

"Yeah," George said, sounding more than a little shocked. She looked at Roberta and her eyes were huge and bright with unshed tears. "I didn't think about this part of it."

"The next generation part? The saved the world part? You didn't think about it?"

"Honestly, no.” The sound George made might have been a laugh, if she weren’t so overwhelmed. “There's been so much -- I was worrying about the people in front of me."

Roberta reached out and pulled George towards her so their heads clonked gently together and rubbed her thumb over the nape of George's neck. "You made sure to make space and supplies for new people. You were thinking about it, even if you didn't realize."

"I guess I was.” George pulled back suddenly, looking distressed. “Oh, Laura's going to be  _ pissed _ I missed the birth. She wasn't supposed to be due yet!"

"I don't think there's much reasoning with babies when they're ready to come," Roberta said. "Guess she was ready to meet the world."

"Wow," George said softly. "We did it, didn't we? We built something. We built a world."

"Don't get lazy," Roberta said, though she couldn't picture George ever doing so. "It's not done yet."

"It's a world," George said. "It's never done." 


End file.
